


Driving Home

by connerluthorkent, Miss_Vile



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Oklahoma, Southern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connerluthorkent/pseuds/connerluthorkent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Vile/pseuds/Miss_Vile
Summary: There was something ironic about a podunk little town in the middle of nowhere being named Gotham. There was nothing but fields and dirt roads as far as the eye could see. There was the occasional tree and gravel road— if you were fancy— and an abandoned barn or two. At least the skies were pretty. That was one detail that Ed could say he missed about his hometown.
Relationships: Gertrud Kapelput/Elijah Van Dahl, Harvey Bullock/Fish Mooney, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 21
Kudos: 23





	Driving Home

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy oh boy oh boy! I'm so excited to get this first chapter out to y'all. I had the hair-brained idea of writing an AU where we moved Gotham closer to our hometown and this was the result. I love it. I love _them._ So I'm excited what y'all think!
> 
> We named this story after [a song written and performed by a friend of mine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJUsz2sTu18)
> 
> -Miss_Vile
> 
> As a smalltown girl, I am so thrilled to be working with Miss_Vile on this Gotham fic set closer-to-home concept she cooked up, and to be sharing it with y'all! If you like Southern rom-coms, small-town gossip (and secrets), and shady little bars on the outskirts of town that feel like home, you should be in for a treat. So looking forward to hearing everybody's thoughts! 
> 
> -connerluthorkent

There was something ironic about a podunk little town in the middle of nowhere being named  _ Gotham _ . There was nothing but fields and dirt roads as far as the eye could see. There was the occasional tree and gravel road— if you were fancy— and an abandoned barn or two. At least the skies were pretty. That was  _ one  _ detail that Ed could say he missed about his hometown.

Manhattan was a sight to behold, but Ed missed stargazing. He never could seem to get his hands on a telescope powerful enough to penetrate the smog and light pollution. Not that he could afford one working for the NYPD as a lowly forensics technician.

Ed knew he crossed the state line long before he ever reached the sign. His eyes burned and he sneezed as his senses were assaulted by the local wildflowers and cottonwoods. As a kid, he always suffered through the changing of seasons— practically too allergic to the outdoors to enjoy it most of the time. Though, it wasn’t like he had any friends to play with. The Nashton farmstead was pretty far outside of town and the nearest houses didn’t have any kids his age. When his parents got tired of him hiding in his room among his books, he had to make up his own games and imaginary adventures while climbing peach trees and playing near the bridges that bordered Slaughter Swamp.

His hometown hadn’t changed in five years. The mom-and-pop shops were all the same, there was an American flag hanging outside every door, and it was still just as dreary and cloudy as he remembered. The rest of Oklahoma was bright and sunny, bordering on gold with all its waving wheat and sparkling granite, but never Gotham. A perpetual rain cloud hung overhead like some old, angry  _ thing _ . He took the familiar turn down Waterbury Street until he reached the uneven patch of dirt road that led to the farmstead.

Moving back to Gotham was a difficult choice, but it was either that, starve, or get eaten alive by an even  _ worse _ slumlord. At least he could live with his parents rent free— financially free, anyway. Emotionally...eh, not so much.

The rusted farm equipment was still by the barn where it sat derelict for years. His father inherited the farmland and cotton fields but, after his grandfather passed, the land had gone unused. Ed’s mother maintained a small garden of herbs and tomatoes. Her chickens supplied eggs for the Jenkins’ and she sold them to a few of her friends from bridge club. The pocket change she made paid for more spools of wildly colored yarn. She would mail Ed a knitted scarf or cardigan every month. He had so many, he had to buy a separate suitcase just for them. She would always send them with handwritten transcriptions from their church’s sermons and she made sure to always tell him that she was praying for him and hoped he would find a God-centered church where he was.

“I’m home,” Ed announced from the front door.

“Eddie!” his mom came around the corner to wrap him in a hug. She smelled of fresh bread and molasses, “We sure did miss you. Your room is just like you left it.”

“Thanks, mom,” Ed forced a smile. He peered around the corner and could spot the old man sitting in his recliner, beer in hand, “Hey, dad.”

His father responded by turning the volume up on the T.V.

“Oh, Earl,” his mother chided. She turned back to Edward and frowned at the two suitcases in his hands, “Surely you brought more than just that with you?”

“I didn’t really see the point in taking it all with me," he shrugged, "I pawned everything else to get some spare cash for the drive home.”

“How long you stayin’ with us?” she asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” he nervously ran his fingers through his hair, “I was gonna get settled in before I made any concrete plans.”

Ed was an avid notetaker and often a meticulous planner, however his anxiousness caused him to avoid dealing with the matter. Even now, he could feel his anxiety bubbling to the surface.

“Well, you stay for as long as you like,” she smiled, “Dinner will be ready in a few hours, sugar. You go unpack and make yourself at home in the meantime.”

The room, while just as he left it, felt smaller than he remembered. It made him miss the loft-style apartment back in New York with its industrial accents and high ceilings. Even though it was one room, it was comfortable. He could breathe there.  Having his own space had granted him a freedom he’d never had back in Oklahoma. He vividly recalled the giddy excitement he felt that first weekend when he went out and purchased a painting from a shop right around the corner. The thrill of having total control over his own surroundings had been addicting, and he had quickly filled his modest home with local art and furniture he repurposed himself from odds and ends he found around the city. 

Unlike the coziness he had cultivated in the small corners of his apartment, he found the tightness of his old bedroom suffocating. Being surrounded by those mementos of his adolescence should have given him comfort. His childhood books still sat on the old wooden shelf his mother had constructed for his nursery, organized in the rhizomatic system Ed himself put together in middle school. Titles like  _ Peter and Wendy  _ and  _ James and the Giant Peach _ jumped off the shelves at him, making him smile fondly as he reminisced on the adventures he’d lost himself in throughout boyhood. The robot he had designed for the school science fair sat at the center of his room, the blue ribbon the project had won him still proudly on display on the rickety old machine’s chest. Half-finished puzzles lay intact underneath Ed’s stacks of tractor manuals and bird-watching guides.

But for every pleasant memory there was an unpleasant reminder of the confinement he experienced growing up here. The baseball and glove shoved onto one corner of his desk his father had gifted him in a  sour attempt at “bonding.” Ed’s awkward, lanky frame growing up and the pressure of his father’s eardrum-piercing yelling any time he made a mistake ensured he would never be anything other than abysmal at sports. The cool blue walls that surrounded him, exactly the same as the day he came home from the hospital. His impassioned attempt to convince his parents to let him repaint them a vibrant green in high school had been vetoed instantaneously. The arm that dangled by a thread from his prize-winning robot’s left side, having fallen victim to one of his father’s drunken late night rampages. 

As he sat on the bed,  the old box springs cried and groaned under his weight and his nose itched from the years of dust trapped in the old green quilt. He opened his suitcase and sighed. He really hadn’t brought much with him aside from a few of his favorite outfits, some choice books, and smaller items he could Tetris into the corners.  His chest ached slightly at the memory of selling all those unique finds he had so painstakingly collected over the years. With so much of his life in New York now scrubbed away,  it felt like he was starting over again.

Standing, he reached into his duffel and pulled out a few sweaters, a pair of corduroy pants, and his too big suit jacket. After laying the neatly folded clothes out onto his bed, he turned and slid open the closet door.

Hit by the musky smell, Ed paused for a moment to take in the sight of worn flannels, faded jeans, and  _ Gotham High  _ t-shirts hanging as though he hadn’t been gone a day. Shaking his head with a slight smile, he pushed his old clothes to one side before fishing out a handful of wire hangers.  As he worked on hanging the rest of his clothes in the closet, he heard the sound of Earl Nashton’s boots on the hardwood floors just outside his room. 

“You drove all the way here in _ that  _ tiny thing?” Earl gestured towards the seafoam green Chevy Nova in the driveway, “If you hadn’t o’ been so damn stubborn and taken the Ford like I told ya, you coulda brought more home with you.”

“I needed better gas mileage while I was in the city,” Ed shrugged, “Besides, I didn’t have much use for a pick-up where I was. I barely drove anyway. I took the subway.”

“Suit yerself,” he frowned, “Why’s it such a girly color though?”

“That was just the color it came in,” Ed clenched his fist. The color was honestly one of the reasons he drove it off the lot in the first place, but his dad didn’t need to know that detail.

“You gonna get a job at the station, or has yer time workin’ in a big city made you too good for small town problems?” he sneered.

“No, dad. I don’t mind working for the station. There’s no forensics department, but they still have work for me.” Ed fiddled with the hem of his sweater, “I’m meeting with the Police Captain just as soon as I’m done unpacking.”

“Good,” his dad stumbled in the doorway. Ed glanced over at the clock and frowned at how early it was and the fact that his old man was already drunker than a skunk, “Can’t have ya comin’ back home just so you can be lazy.”

“I’m only going to be staying for a little while,” Ed told him, “Then I’ll be out of your hair again.”

“There a reason yer in such a hurry, boy?” he asked, “You in trouble? I don’t want you upsettin’ yer mother.”

“I just needed to get back on my feet, that’s all,” Ed tried not to raise his voice. He knew better than to do so and he certainly didn’t want his first few minutes home to end in a fight. If there was anything that was sure to upset his mother, it was that.

“Y’ain’t gonna embarrass me, are ya?” the rasp to his voice was more pronounced than the last time Ed heard it. Those cigarettes weren’t doing the man any favors.

“No, sir.”

“I may not be able to work anymore, but I still got eyes and ears all throughout the station,” he leaned in, pointing an accusatory finger at his son, “I’ll know if you’re up to no good.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the old tosspot swayed in the doorway, “Loretta put a list on the fridge. Take that fancy-ass car o’ yours into town and drop by the store, wouldja?”

* * *

Ed prayed that the little Nova would get him there and back. Despite what his dad said, his car actually wasn’t in the best shape. In fact, she was on her last leg. The power steering had been going out for weeks so the poor thing had the turning radius of a cow and the brake pads were making some pretty terrible noises. It was decades older than any of the cars driven by his coworkers in New York and he’d never really considered it a “City Car.” Though, now that he was driving around town and seeing all of the jerry-rigged fenders and mismatched paint jobs, he could see why his dad might think that.

He pulled into the parking lot of the tiny police department near the old Soloman Wayne courthouse. He took one last look in the side mirror, adjusting his hair and tie as best he could, before swallowing his anxiety and marching up the steps.

The culture of Gotham's police department was about as different from the NYPD as a rooster was from a hog. Unlike the department in a large, sprawling city with its tax dollars and upwards of 50,000 employees, Gotham PD had two police captains that divvied up responsibilities around town, a handful of officers, two detectives who did nothing but sit around and drink all the time, and one office employee who often did double duty as the town's only dispatcher.

Gotham's tiny population of roughly 1,500 people was primarily contained within the small neighborhood just outside the town's historic downtown with its narrow, redbrick buildings and cobbled roads. Further North was the Narrows— a small trailer park and a few rundown farmhouses near Washita River. To the west was the bridge leading out to Slaughter Swamp and even further westward were the old railroad tracks that divided Gotham proper from the reservation out on Indian Hill. And, of course, Gotham's dirty little secret lurked just beyond the woods— Arkham Asylum.

Despite the tiny population and secluded farmland, the crime rate was remarkably high. Rumors of more "organized crime" crept up every now and then but, according to Captain Barnes, Gotham was primarily home to drunkards, domestic concerns, Bigfoot sightings, and the weirdos that hung out near Mooney's.

The station layout itself was fairly simple— a bullpen with a few desks for the officers on duty, a shared office for both of the police captains, a tiny records room, and a single holding cell. The walls alternated between a powder blue and a cream and what little wall space they had was covered in bulletin boards, old wanted and missing persons posters, and local advertisements. 

Ed quietly made his way to the bullpen and found a familiar face. Detective Harvey Bullock was just as stout and just as in need of a shave and a haircut as he looked when Ed was a kid— though with significantly more grey hairs. The man always sported the most obnoxious belt buckles, his favorites being the ones he got from roadside artisans near Indian Hill, and ten-gallons hats. The detective was hovering nearby one of the female officers , leaning over her desk with a  wide, flirtatious smile and a box of donuts in hand. From the look of it, said box was meant to be on the table near the coffee maker but Harvey had decided that this particular box had his name on it.

Even at a distance, Ed caught the tail end of what Detective Bullock was whispering to her, grimacing slightly as he watched the other detective titter coquettishly. 

“After my shift’s over, what’s say you and me get out of here and head on down to—” Detective Bullock’s eyes locked suddenly with Ed’s, his sentence cutting off abruptly as he let out a whoop of surprise.

"Well, I'll be damned if that ain't Earl and Loretta's boy!" the drawl of Detective Bullock grated on Ed's ears. 

Ed let out a nervous huff as a sea of eyes fell on him. He could feel his shoulders curl in on themselves and the slight chill that prickled at the back of his neck and traveled down his arms.

"Yup, that's me," he swallowed the lump in his throat before adjusting his glasses and waving at the officers at their desks. "I'm supposed to meet with Captain Essen?"

“She ain’t back yet from her trip to the Narrows,” Detective Bullock said, “I can give ya the grand tour in the meantime.”

“Okie dokie,” Ed said. He’d only been there a few minutes and he was already feeling the chains of his hometown wrap around him. If he listened closely, he could almost hear the rattle of padlocks.

“Don’t you look all slick,” the Detective snorted, tugging at Ed’s tie, “You didn’t need to get dressed up just to see the Captain.”

Ed looked down at his outfit and tried not to frown. He didn’t feel particularly dressed up but, just like with the car, his surroundings told him otherwise, “I just wanted to make a good first impression.”

“Well, stop it or yer gonna make us all look bad,” Harvey not-so-subtly took a swig from his flask.

Growing up, Ed had been too afraid of his father to really indulge in any of the typical rebelliousness that came with being a teenager so he never spent any more time at the station or with the other officers than he needed to. Despite that though, the interior of the station felt familiar. The smell of dust and cigarette smoke, the yellowed rings on the ceiling from years of water damage, the hiss from the old stereo in the corner playing Toby Keith and Christian rock.

Ed caught a glimpse of the old photographs from when his dad worked at the station. He and several others had received awards over the years for their service and many of them still hung on the walls beside the bulletin boards.

“You ain’t dead in there, are you?” Harvey tapped at the bars of the holding cell as they passed. Ed could hear a muffled “harumph” from the bench. He peeked over Harvey’s shoulder at the man inside the cage.

The man lifted his head and grimaced at the light. He was clearly hungover and in need of a warmer bed. His black hair stuck out wildly in all directions, the remnants of charcoal makeup clung to his lashes.

Ed recognized him immediately as Oswald Cobblepot. He dropped out of school the moment he had the opportunity and, from the look of it, he hadn’t done much with his life since then. Oswald never was the studious type and was more likely to be spotted smoking in Cowboy Alley or hopping the fence to go take a nap under the shade of the Crepe Myrtles.

The teachers all called him lazy and scoffed at his “lack of ambition” but Ed knew better. He’d seen Oswald around town picking up odd jobs here and there to help support his mother. Oswald was anything but lazy.

“You gonna behave if I send you home?” Harvey placed his hands on his hips, showing off the brass and turquoise on his buckle.

“I  _ was  _ behaving,” Oswald groaned, rubbing at his eyes, “I was minding my own business when Tom started harassing me outside Mooney’s. It’s not my fault his face is so punchable.”

“Officer Dougherty said you were causin’ a ruckus and started it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Oswald scrunched his nose, “Fine. If I promise to  _ behave _ , can I go?”

Harvey unlocked the holding cell and rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a pack of menthols, a Zippo lighter, and worn leather wallet. “Alright then. Tell yer Ma ‘hello’ for me.”   
  
Oswald rolled his eyes and took his things from the detective. It was only then that he bothered glancing up at Ed who had been staring at him that whole time.

“Can I help you,  _ friend?”  _

Ed started at being addressed directly, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. With a roll of his eyes, Oswald clarified.

“Do you want something?”

“The poor have it, the rich need it, and if you eat it, you’ll die,” Ed recited, the riddle rolling off his tongue before he thought better of it.

“I—” Oswald cut off, squinting at him suspiciously. “What?”

“Oh, I, um—” Ed took a step back, backpedaling both physically and verbally, “the answer, it’s nothing.”

“I’m sorry?” Oswald said, expression still drawn in confusion. 

“It’s, uh, a riddle. Nothing, I don’t...want anything,” he finished weakly.

“Wait a second,” Oswald murmured, cocking his head to one side in contemplation. “Don’t I know you?”

“Edward. Nygma,” Ed replied, his chosen surname feeling heavier in his mouth now that he was back in his hometown. “We went to Gotham High together.” 

“Ah, so that’s where I recognize you from!” Oswald exclaimed, snapping his fingers mere inches from Ed’s nose. “I make it a point never to forget a face as  _ memorable  _ as yours.” 

Ed felt his face flush instantly at the comment, something about the emphasis Oswald had placed on ‘memorable’ making his throat dry up. 

“Well, I certainly remember  _ you _ ,” he heard himself say.

Then he sucked in his lips, a last ditch effort to prevent him from embarrassing himself any further.

“Oh, do you, now?” Oswald asked as he sidled closer, the look he was shooting Ed turning appraising.  Ed felt himself wobble, the heat in his cheeks more difficult to ignore as he stared down at the smaller man beside him. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted before he could properly form his words.

“Hey, Cobblepot!” 

Ed jumped at the sound of Harvey’s voice, springing away from Oswald guiltily. He and Oswald turned to peer over at Harvey in unison. 

“Don’t you got somewhere better to be?” Harvey demanded, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Namely, out of my hair? Or should I go ahead and put you back in that cell?”

“Yes, yes, I’m going,” Oswald waved Harvey off as he made for the door, the familiarity of the exchange suggesting it was one they had had often. 

Ed watched as he limped away. Judging by how he walked, he probably sustained some sort of injury to his right side. It must have occurred sometime during the five years Ed had been away from Gotham. There was a rhythm to the sway of his hips. One that spoke volumes about his confidence. It honestly made Ed a little jealous.

As he reached the exit, Oswald paused, shooting one final look over his shoulder. 

“See you around, Ed,” he called, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smug half-smile.

Then he was gone. 

“You best steer clear of Cobblepot,” Harvey warned him, “Yer dad’ll have my hide if you get caught up in his business.”

“Is everyone around here scared of my old man?” Ed heard himself say. He felt his teeth clack and he abruptly shut his mouth upon hearing the words fall out.

“Honestly?” Harvey leaned in close, “Between you and me, ol’ Earl Nashton is too much of a drunk to fight. Poor guy would prolly keel over after he threw a punch.”

Ed, surprised by such a candid response, burst out into nervous laughter.

“Boy, that’s prolly the first time I heard you laugh,” he chuckled, “I remember you was this scrawny little thing. Always looked like an animal caught in a trap.”

Ed’s laughter faded at that. He hated being reminded of the fact that  _ everyone _ in this town knew who he was. There was no way he could really hide all that he used to be or even the shame he felt at how certain aspects of himself had never changed. He was still shy, awkward, and repressed in spite of everything.

“But seriously, you better not tell him I said that,” Harvey stifled his own belly laugh, “Earl is still respected here at the station. So don’t make me have to throw the old man in the tank because he’s pissed at you.”

“Scouts Honor,” Ed saluted.

Detective Bullock led him through the rest of the station where he would be working. A few of the officers on duty nodded in his direction as he passed. Unsurprisingly, most of the kids he went to school with who bullied him had joined the force in Gotham. With any luck, Ed could steer clear of most of them.

The records annex may as well have been a closet. Boxes of files were stacked clear to the ceiling on top of the old metal filing cabinets. Sitting at the lone desk tucked away in the corner was Kristen Kringle. Her wool dress with a prairie collar, cardigan, and cat-eye glasses made her look like she stepped out of some Home Living magazine. She looked a bit dazed with the old receiver held to her ear.

“Now, are you  _ sure _ Henry stole your chickens?... Well, have you looked?...” she glanced up at the detective and they both rolled their eyes, “I’m glad you found ‘em. Can I help you with anything else, Agatha?... Alright, you have a nice day?”

“If Agatha remembered to wear her dang glasses, she wouldn’t bother us all dang day,” Harvey shook his head.

“Poor thing can’t remember where she leaves ‘em half the time,” Kristen turned her attention to Edward, “Hello, Mr. Nashton. I heard you were back in town.”

“Hello, Ms. Kringle. It’s… uh… it’s Nygma now. Edward Nygma.”

“Ed is gonna be workin’ here with you,” Harvey said, “Maybe y’all can do somethin’ about these records.”

“My system works just fine, thank you,” she glared, but only for a moment. She turned her attention back to Ed, “Didn’t you run off for school?”

“I did. I got my degree in Forensic Science and Toxicology,” Ed explained.

“Heavens! With such a fancy degree, what’re you doin’ back here?” she asked.

“Being away from home wasn’t in the cards, I guess,” Ed shifted. Kristen was right, it did seem odd. Especially since he never actually hid how much he wanted to escape from Gotham when they were in school. However, Kristen seemed to understand and gave him a sad sort of smile.

“Well,” she said breezily, clearly trying to clear the air, “I bet your folks are thrilled to have you back home for awhile.”

Ed swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Yes, ah—my...my mother did seem happy to see me.”

“Well, there, now, you see?” Kristen said, looking away as she straightened a stack of files on her desk. “You’ll be settled in in no time.”

“And I’m sure the Captain will find plenty for you to do around here,” Harvey chimed in, giving Ed a jovial pat on the back that had him stumbling forward slightly with the force of it.

“Harvey?” a face from Ed’s past, James Gordon, poked his head through the doorway into the annex, “Captain Essen and I just got back for the Narrows. She’s looking for you.”

“Hey, Rookie,” Harvey greeted him, “I was just showing Ed around the station.”

“Hello, Jim,” Ed waved.

“Hi,” Jim responded with a halfhearted smile  before turning immediately back to Harvey . 

Ed tried not to falter at the lukewarm greeting. Though their interactions were minimal, and Jim had never been outwardly cruel to him the way so many of the officers now populating the bullpen had been, there had always been a frisson of tension between Jim and himself. Two pieces of the Gotham tapestry inevitably tethered together, whether they wanted to be or not. 

On paper, their lives were in distressing parallel. Both the sons of Gotham cops, hardly a year apart in age. The similarities led to inevitable comparisons between them with the expectation that the boys surely couldn’t be too far apart, given their circumstances. Except, of course, that Ed had spent his youth as a perpetual outsider while Jim had always done nothing but seamlessly and easily fit in. 

Ed had felt that pressure his whole life, of being measured up against Jim Gordon and  _ always _ found woefully lacking. Jim had been on friendly terms with the men who now made their living on the force while Ed had been the target of their ridicule and bullying. Jim had dated pretty, popular prom queen Barbara Kean, while Ed had spent the evening of the homecoming dance holed up in his room with his science projects. Ed’s father could barely look at him without delivering some sneering insult, while Ed had never seen anything other than doting affection and glowing pride on the older Gordon’s face when he looked at his son.

In short, Jim Gordon was everything Ed was not— one of the Good Ol’ Boys who could do no wrong. While Ed struggled with sports, Jim ran track and was a star player on their highschool’s football team. He graduated with high marks a year ahead of Ed and marched down the same path his father had by enlisting in the United States Army barely a day after graduation.

Like Ed, Jim hadn’t been back in their hometown long. When given the option to make his career in the military more long-term, he opted to return to civilian life and join the police academy. He spent the last year in Chicago before returning to the relative peace and quiet of Gotham.

Ed followed the two detectives back into the bullpen and towards the Captain’s office. Sarah Essen was seated at the desk wiping oil and grime from her hands.

“Good afternoon, boys,” she said, “Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess. Tiffany Gale drove her car into a ditch earlier this morning and got stranded. Had to help the poor thing replace her radiator before she could drive it off.”

In a small town like Gotham, it wasn’t uncommon for the officers and especially the higher ups to double as mechanics and plumbers and the like around town. It at least made it easier for the police to interact with its citizens and understand their wants and needs more thoroughly, unlike the disimpassioned system in larger cities. So, that was at least a perk of his new surroundings. It also meant that his knowledge and expertise on such a wide variety of subject matter might finally prove useful and make him seem like less of a nuisance.

“You called me last week wondering if I had a place for you,” Captain Essen spoke, acknowledging Edward who was standing awkwardly beside the two detectives.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The application you mailed in says you worked in forensics,” she said, looking over the paper on her desk that already looked to be stained by coffee.

“That’s correct,” Ed told her, “I know we don’t have a department here, but I can help in other ways. I can also be useful at the morgue if we ever have need of my expertise in that area.”

“Well, we certainly don’t mind giving you work here, Ed,” she smiled, “Your father is well respected around these parts and I have faith you won’t disappoint. We don’t exactly have a lab you could use, but should something come up, you’ll be the first person that we call.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“When did you get into town?” she asked.

“Earlier this morning,” Ed said, “But I can start now if you need me to.”

Edward was eager to do  _ something _ productive with his hands. He’d been cooped up in his car for the last several days, dread looming on the horizon, and had nothing but audiobooks and his own rattled mind to keep him company. If organizing files in a records room or sweeping a floor was what he could get to keep himself busy, he’d take it.

“Well, let’s give you a little time to get settled in. How about you drop by first light on Monday?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ed tried not to show how much his jaw clenched.

He thanked Captain Essen and Harvey for their warm welcome before turning towards the exit. He caught a glimpse of Jim perched at one of the desks, flipping through a spare magazine and rolling his eyes at the endless twang of country rock that filled the bullpen. Ed sighed and wondered if he was going to look just as dreary come Monday morning.

* * *

Ed thanked his little Chevy Nova for making it to the grocery store. Out of habit, he patted the dashboard like the car was some sort of pet. Maybe he was being uncharacteristically superstitious, but he’d already pushed his luck driving it across seven states, the least he could do was thank the reliable hunk of metal.

_ Jenkins Grocers _ was the only food mart in town. Beau and Maribelle Jenkins had owned the tiny store for years, offering jobs to the local teens and donating excess food to the needy in the Narrows. Their daughter, Myrtle Jenkins, had been a classmate of Ed’s. He recognized her by her bright complexion and custom sundresses. She smiled sweetly at him from the register and quickly made her way towards him near the produce.

“Is that Eddie Nashton I see?” she called, her voice high and nasal.

“It’s Edward _ Nygma _ now,” he corrected. He was going to have to do that a lot.

“Nygma?” she repeated, “E. Nygma. Oh, that is so clever! You always were so clever, Eddie.”

“Thanks,” Ed smiled, thankful for the rare moment he wasn’t made fun of for his chosen name. He turned his attention back to the cantaloupe. 

“Oh, Eddie, you’ll like this,” she went on, overexcited as she drew his attention back to her. “I have a face and two hands, but no arms or legs. What am I?” 

Ed blinked, momentarily taken by surprise.

"It's a riddle!" she blurted in the face of his silence. "I remembered! You used to love the damn things when we were kids growing up."

She sidled a step closer, looking up at him hopefully.

“So,” she asked playfully, “do you give up?”

“A clock,” he answered, still giving her a slight smile.

The riddle was simple, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

“Correct! Oh, Eddie, see, just like I said. You always were smart!” Myrtle exclaimed.

Then her gaze dropped, chin bobbing as she looked at him from top to toe in a blatant once-over.

“You sure look...different from when I last saw you,” she noted.

Ed tried very hard not to squirm under the scrutiny, their previous pleasant exchange now shattered.  That was twice that day someone had commented on his appearance.

“Are you in town long?” she added.

“I’m moving back in with the folks for a little bit,” he answered, hopeful that his polite smile hid that he was devastated by that fact.

“Oh! Well then,” she moved a curl from her face, “I doubt you wanna be stuck in that old chicken coop. I could take you ‘round town and show you everything you’ve missed.”

“The town seems just like I left it,” Ed said. He looked up from the rows of boxed Hamburger Helper and caught a glimpse of someone with dark hair in the next aisle over. He moved one of the boxes to get a closer look as, sure enough, there was Oswald Cobblepot again. Ed averted his stare and deposited the box into his basket like that was his intention all along.

“Some things are different,” she said, “Mr. Van Dahl opened a store just down the road. He makes all sorts of tailored suits.”

“Is that a hint?” Ed frowned.

“What? No!” she snorted, jovially slapping at his arm, “Don’t go teasin’ me.”

“I wasn’t teasing,” Ed said, “Is that all that’s changed?”

“Well, there’s also Mooney’s.”

“Mooney’s?”

“It’s a bar just down the way. But it’s… well… you know.”

“I _ don’t _ know,” Ed huffed, “That’s the point of this conversation.”

“Well, it’s only a rumor, but,” she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. Her face over-exaggerated each syllable even though Ed could hear her clear as day, “It’s a gay bar.”

Ed’s eyes flickered up to Oswald’s who was still in the aisle in front of him, pocketing a few items here and there since Myrtle was so distracted by Ed’s presence. He shot a glare in Myrtle’s direction at the mention of Mooney’s before quirking an eyebrow up at Ed, no doubt curious of what Ed would say in response.

“A gay bar?” Ed blinked, “In Gotham?”

“Like I said, it’s just a rumor. I’ve never been there,” she chuckled, “Obviously.”

"That's rather progressive of Gotham."

"Well, it's not  _ officially _ that but it's where those sorts of people hang out."

"Those sorts of people," Ed repeated, his heart sinking a little.

"I don't mean it like that," Myrtle flailed, "Mooney's tends to attract the more rebellious fellas. That's all."

Edward smiled, conveying that he understood. She had always been sweet, albeit nosey and overly friendly in interactions they’d had in school. Though, the more he heard about Mooney’s the more his curiosity nagged at him to at least stake the place out. 

As he paid for his groceries, Ed spotted Oswald in the middle of the parking lot struggling with one of the cars. Assuming he needed some assistance, Ed hurriedly took his change.

“Don’t be a stranger, now!” Ed heard Myrtle call out as he shoved open the plate-glass door with one shoulder, bells jingling overhead as he stepped into the parking lot.

“Sure!” he hollered back distractedly, making his way over to Oswald. 

“You look like you could use a hand,” he said once he was at Oswald’s back, close enough he caught a whiff of his cheap aftershave on the afternoon breeze.

At the sound of his voice, Oswald startled, wrenching into a standing position and almost knocking the groceries from Ed’s arms as he nearly collided with his chest.

He swiveled around on his heel, chin tipped upward to give Ed a fearsome glare. When he saw who it was, however, some of the tension instantly drained from his body, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“You know,”  he huffed, sounding simultaneously irritated and amused, “when I said I'd see you around, that wasn't an invitation to start following me.”

“I wasn't! just… I saw you… um…” Ed stammered.

“Relax,” he smirked, “I was just kidding. This town is just super small.”

“Yeah,” Ed chuckled, still nervous to be talking to him. “Did you lock your keys in your car?”

“Uhhhh...” Oswald looked down at the wire hanger in his hand, “Yeah. Silly me.”

Ed looked between the car door and the makeshift tool, quickly assessing the situation.

“You’re doing it wrong,”  he said, nodding at the hanger.

“Excuse me?” Oswald quirked an eyebrow.

“You need to straighten the hanger,” Ed set his bags of groceries down and took the wire from the dark-haired man, “The key is to bend this section here.”

Ed tried not to get flustered by how close the other man was leaning in and watching his fingers twist at the metal. The noticeable warmth from Oswald’s breath as he huffed— the slightest tang of tobacco and cinnamon gum— spread up Ed’s arm.

“Then slide it in under the weather seal… jimmy it a little aaaaand…  voilà!” He exclaimed as the door popped open.

“Huh…”  Oswald gave him an appraising look, as if some new puzzle piece had clicked into place. “Well, I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.”

“Or you could just keep track of your keys.”

“Yeah. Right,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling into a mischievous smirk, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ed smiled.

With a final quick wave,  he hurried to pick up his groceries and escape before he said anything else that might embarrass him later,  not missing Oswald’s playful little half-salute in return . He heard Oswald rev the engine and speed off down one of the main roads towards the Narrows. As Ed placed his groceries into the back of his Nova, he heard several voices call out from the storefront.

“Excuse me,” a man called out to him, “Have you seen my car?”

“Your car?” Edward looked out towards the parking lot. The only other car there had been…  _ Oh.  _ “Nope. It’s just me out here.”

He  ignored the sound of the other man’s vehement cursing as he  hastily made his way into the front seat and  started the car, biting his lip as he hoped the man wouldn’t try to flag him down again. Turning out of the parking lot, he tried to pretend he didn’t just accidentally help Oswald steal a car.

Maybe there had been something to all that talk around town about what a troublemaker Oswald had turned out to be after all.

He couldn’t explain the tiny thrill of excitement the thought gave him.

* * *

It didn’t take long after returning home for the kitchen to smell of the herbs and spices from his mother’s garden and the glazed chicken that was roasting in the oven. On autopilot, Ed opened up the cabinets and set the table just like he had when he was a child — the muscle memory of it coming to him and guiding him along. His father always sat at the head of the table, Loretta to his right and Ed at his left.

Ed helped carry all of the food from the kitchen and smiled at how his mother hummed along to the music in her head as she placed all of the ceramic bowls and dishes full of herbed butter and roasted vegetables on the spread. It reminded him of all those pleasant times when his mother would lift him up on the counter and let him lick the bowls of batter clean when his father wasn’t looking and how she would talk him through all of her recipes she’d collected over the years from cooking shows and that old box of index cards grandma left her.

It all looked so good and he didn’t think twice about picking up his fork and reaching out towards the bowl of collard greens out in front of him before the sound of his father clearing his throat reminded him of an important step.

“Will you say Grace for us, Eddie?” his mother asked, eyeing him from across the table, her hand firmly in Earl’s grasp.

“Of course,” Ed said, looking down at the calloused hand beside him on the table. He held his hand and closed his eyes, hoping that he could still conjure up the prayer he’d not uttered a single word of in the five years he’d been gone, “Dear God, our Heavenly Father, Thank you for the meal we have received. Please bless this food and help our bodies to nourish us and keep us healthy. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

His eyes flitted around the table waiting for the telltale signs of approval from his parents. His father, as usual, responded with a scowl as he reached out towards the platter of chicken and carved out half of it for himself. Ed’s nerves didn’t calm until he caught a glimpse of his mother’s smile as she spread butter on her roll.

“Well, now, tell us about your time in New York.  I wanna hear all the details,” she said, spooning some carrots onto her plate.

“There’s not much to tell,” Ed confessed, “I didn’t really get out much. I dedicated a lot of my time to work.”

“Did you at least get to see any musicals while you were there?” she passed him the potatoes and chives, “You always did like those when you were little. It’d be a shame if you didn’t go at least once.”

“I did, yeah,” Ed looked down at his plate and tried to ignore the indignant huff of his father beside him, “Honestly, I stayed in the lab at work most of the time. I liked to conduct my own experiments and take notes so I could refer to them later during investigations.”

“You’re just like your father in that regard,” she noted, “Always so dedicated to your work.”

Earl snorted at the sentiment, making Ed grimace and earning a slight, disapproving frown from his mother.

“At least you weren’t galavanting around, getting up to God only knows what with those city slickers.”

“Well, surely you made  _ some _ friends while you were there. Does a boy no good to be stuck indoors all the time,” she said, “I remember having to drag you away from those books of yours just to get you to play outside like a normal kid.”

Ed wanted to scream. It wasn’t for lack of trying that he didn’t make friends. If he was honest, he was beginning to think he might be incapable of making them.

“I kept to myself, but don’t worry, mom,” he faked another smile, “It wasn’t all bad. Just… stressful. There’s a lot of crime in New York, so I was always busy.”

“Dirty, sinful place, New York. Never understood why you wanted to go there in the first place,” Earl spoke up between bites.

“Job security?” Ed made a face, hoping that was enough of an answer to satisfy the old man.

“Good to know your mother and I raised you right in at least one respect.”

“I was always curious why you never invited us to come visit you, Eddie,” his mother pouted, “I would’ve liked to have gone at least once in my life.”

“I doubt you would’ve liked it,” he said, spearing a potato.

“Now why would you go and say a silly thing like that?” She sulked, “Just because you don’t know how to have fun, doesn’t mean that I don’t. I reckon I’d have a grand ol’ time. Not like that matters now,” she frowned, “Now you’re back home with us and that’s all that matters.”

“Right,” Ed took another bite, feeling a bit like he was floating outside of himself.

“ Still,  your father and I were always proud that you never got involved with the wrong sorts of people around town,” she spoke for the two of them, “I’m glad you steered clear of those sorts while you were away.”

Ed nodded and busied himself with chewing at his food so he couldn’t say anything to the contrary. His self isolation in New York certainly hadn’t been on purpose. He’d always wanted to venture out and be more adventurous, but being on his own in such a big place with no one there to ground him had been overwhelming.

The few times he summoned up the courage to go out to a club or a concert ended with him crawling back home to work on a puzzle instead.

“Thank the Lord you never got involved with the likes of those freaks like the ones down at Mooney’s,” Earl muttered darkly in agreement, taking a swig of his beer.

“Today, when I was in the grocery store, Myrtle Jenkins mentioned a Mooney’s as well, on the outskirts of town.  I guess it has some notoriety? ”

“They outta burn the place down,” Earl sneered, “With the lot of ‘em inside.”

“Oh, Earl,” Loretta swatted at him with her napkin. “But your father’s right, Eddie. You don’t want to be seen hanging around with  _ those  _ people.”

Ed swallowed hard, finally mustering up the courage to ask, “And what sort of people is that, Mom?”

“Oh, you know. Ruffians, roughnecks. Drunkards. Bad seed. You’ll get a reputation being caught around those parts. People will talk, and we don’t want that with you just coming back into town, now do we?”

‘Drunkards.’ As though his dad hadn’t reeked of booze and sweat at half-past noon that very day.

He mulled over her statement for a moment, chewing his collards thoughtfully. Every new piece of information he sussed out about Mooney’s made him more and more intrigued. 

Even so, he felt a wave of apprehension that the subject had even come up at the dinner table with his parents. Anxiety mounting, his brain did what it always did when going on the defensive. Started spouting up facts.

“Did you know that the highest blood alcohol ever recorded was 1.5% which is nearly 19 times the legal limit? At that level your insides slowly shut down, starting with your basic bladder functions and eventually your heart just stops—”

“ — Boy, you never did learn when to bite your tongue.”

There was more he could say and honestly more that he  _ should _ say, but Ed’s mouth got dry anytime he thought to speak up further. Thankfully, his poorly timed habit seemed to distract his parents enough that they were able to finish the remainder of dinner in relative peace.

Ed really did miss his mother’s cooking. She’d made all of his favorites and, if Ed ate even one more potato, he might explode. With his dad passed out in his recliner and the dishes cleaned, Edward shuffled into the time capsule that was his childhood bedroom. He looked at the clock and groaned. He’d been awake nearly twenty-four hours by that point and could feel the sleep deprivation in his limbs. However, he had a few outfits and random items from his duffel still piled on his bed.

He arranged the last of his lonesome knick-knacks on the bookshelf alongside copies of his favorite forensic and anatomy textbooks, a copy of the magazines featuring articles he’d published, and a bound copy of his thesis. He was still heartbroken that he couldn't bring most of his collection with him when he moved. He was particularly sad about having to leave the piano behind. Fortunately, he got to keep one of his favorites.

He found the little mechanical bird at an antique shop in one of the clearance bins. It was broken and most of the cogs and springs were in a bag. Edward, gleeful about his find, took it home and pieced it all back together. Ed even took the time to repaint the little greenfinch inside. He’d fixate on how it danced and chirped inside its little brass cage for hours. Now, with it sitting on the shelf next to the robot he’d built in his youth, he couldn’t help but find it sad.

Finally worn out from the stress of the day, he toed off his shoes and shifted uncomfortably on the stiff mattress. His eyes were heavy enough that sleep was assured. How restful that sleep would be was yet to be determined.

At least he could sleep in on Sunday.

**Author's Note:**

> Also! Check out this [banger of a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2XNZeYH4m1EFkpmdVTywe9?si=j2H_8Tt1QEmbABvLvOm0Tw) I made for this story! -Miss_Vile


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